


Surely Heaven

by posingasme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Guilt, Heaven, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 15:51:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3902023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posingasme/pseuds/posingasme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam finds it hard to spend time alone with his own thoughts. Fortunately, he isn't ever truly alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surely Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> For a Nonny-Mouse who had a rough week.

It had taken a long time for the bunker to feel like home. Sam did not dare call it that, of course, considering what happened to homes. Home was the highway, the smirk in his brother's eyes, the smell of coffee and the color of gunmetal. It was the strength of Castiel, and the brush of fingertips. Home wasn’t a place. It never had been, not for Sam.

But at some point, he had gradually begun to feel safe at the bunker, and safe was what he had thought home meant as a child, when he had promised himself one. So the bunker had become the closest thing to a home Sam had ever had, and Dean called it the bat cave or the lair, and Charlie called it the Death Star, but to Sam, it had finally become the place where he pictured himself in the future. The first time that had occurred to him, it had been a shock. The passenger seat of the Impala had been the only place he had expected to be when he thought of the future in the past decade. Even when Dean was in Hell, and then when he was in Purgatory, he had driven the Impala but had felt like he belonged slightly to the right of where he sat. Suddenly, when he thought of where he would be, assuming he was alive at all, a year from now, he thought of the Men of Letters library.

When one has a home, one develops routines. Dean had fallen into routines like he was made for it. But then Dean always operated best within a structure. It might look like chaos to anyone who did not know the man, but Sam knew better. Dean liked things just so. Sam had been clumsier about the whole thing. Staying in one place longer than three days made him anxious. Dean got stir crazy without a case, but Sam felt nervous. But there was something to be said for a day off here and there, and even a week off. They weren’t nineteen anymore. Even Dean needed sleep eventually. So they had fallen into a habit of staying home every few days if there was no case, and those became their training and laundry time.

Laundry was one of the evils of life that Sam had never figured out how to slay. He would tear apart the bunker library, including the books from Bobby’s and the Campbells', if he thought there were a secret to ridding the world of that chore. Instead, he let the machines do their work while he did his, and forced himself to be grateful that at least he was not at a laundromat.

While his clothes washed, he worked out in the Men of Letters weight room. Everything in it was ancient, and obviously made for men who did not really intend to break too much of a sweat, but that was okay. Sam didn’t need much. He ran in the morning, worked out, then came back to hit the firing range. Dean had joined him this morning, and they had not talked, each enjoying the company of his brother. Dean’s aim was deadly, had always been slightly better than Sam’s, though Sam could throw a knife better. Each sat down to clean his weapons after, and then finally Dean spoke.

“I’m going to check on Garth.”

Sam looked up and stared at him. “Garth? Why don’t you just call him?”

The older man shrugged. “I want to see for myself that he’s doing all right. After running into Kate again a few months back, I haven’t been able to get it out of my head. I’m wondering if he can maybe try to track her down and offer her some help or something. But I want to be sure he’s doing okay himself before I bring that up to him.”

“Yeah, okay. That’s a good idea.”

Dean nodded. “You want in? I’m just driving, then I’ll stay one night.” He began packing up his weapons.

That was Dean’s way of saying Sam was welcome, but that he needed time to himself. And honestly, so did Sam. “No, I’ll hang back. See if Cas wants to hang out.”

“Right. Okay then. I’m going to head out in about an hour. You need anything?”

“I’m going to just hit the library for a while, maybe follow up on some leads. I’ll call you if something comes up.”

Dean looked at him for a moment. “You all right, man? I can stay if you want.”

“No, no, I’m good. Kind of tired. Go on. Text me how he’s doing.”

“I will.”

He could practically feel Dean leaving the bunker, and it wasn’t only because the Impala’s engine vibrated everything around it.

For an introvert, Sam really did not do well on his own. It gave him too much time to spend inside his own head.

Turning on the music was supposed to help. He had wandered through the bunker and suddenly been overwhelmed by the realization that Kevin Tran had died at his hands right in that exact spot. One of the good guys, one of the best people Sam had ever known, had died right there, because of him.

It was a spiral he had been down a thousand times, and he really did not want to do it again. He turned on the music to distract him from it. He listened to Brian Johnson shriek for a while, then smiled as Kansas began to play.

The smile faded after just a few chords. He knew the song; of course he did. But today, for some reason, the lyrics stung.

His breathing became shallow as he listened, and the room felt colder than it should have, larger and emptier. The song even seemed to be playing slower than it should be.

_Once I rose above the noise and confusion…_

Sam’s eyes closed against the words. Noise and confusion was every monster who had ever manipulated him, every monster he had become.

_Though my mind could think I still was a mad man._

He had spent an entire year without a soul, and then had fought against its return, fought so hard he had nearly killed Bobby. And for what? To taint his vessel to prevent the soul from returning where it belonged. “I shouldn’t have bothered,” Sam breathed quietly, into the empty room. “Should have thought of it then. My vessel was already tainted. It’s just that my soul was too. I was soulless, but I knew what I was doing. The whole time.”

And before that? The demon blood. He had blamed Ruby, blamed his grief over Dean, but he was the one who gave in. His mind could think, but he still was a mad man.

His own words blistered his ears. “Last time I checked, it wasn’t the road to Heaven that was paved with good intentions.” Not that he had always had good intentions anyway. Maybe at the time, but in hindsight, he could always see exactly where he had gone wrong, and it always began with selfishness and lack of control. Those were not the result of Azazel’s blood. That was just Sam. Selfish, careless, reckless, impulsive, undisciplined Sam. Masquerading as a man with a reason, Sam had let pride win, time and again, at the expense of his family and friends.

The lines that sent him reaching for the whiskey pierced his heart without mercy.

_Now your life’s no longer empty._   
_Surely Heaven waits for you._

It was a taunt. It was mocking him. He pinched his eyes closed. In spite of the song’s insistence, he found his eyes burning with tears.

“Sam?”

He dropped the bottle. Fortunately, it fell onto the table and did not break. Sam was certain that would have put him over the edge.

“I’m sorry I startled you. But you were calling for me.”

The hunter turned slowly to see his angel standing before him, head tilted and blue eyes narrowed in a look of deep concern. For a being who had spent eons forbidden to show emotion, there was never any mistaking Castiel’s feelings.

“Sam?” he urged again.

Sam shook his head. “No. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

Castiel closed the distance between them, and put his hand on Sam’s arm to lead him to adjacent chairs. “Sam, I have time, and I’d like to hear what’s wrong. I don’t often hear you praying like that.”

“I wasn’t praying.”

The angel raised an eyebrow, but did not bother reminding Sam that a formal prayer was not necessary to catch the attention of an angel who was already tuned in to him.

“I’m just…I want to know something.”

“Yes, Sam?”

He took a deep breath and refused to look in Castiel’s worried eyes. “I’ve been to Heaven. Many times, evidently, but once that I remember.”

“That’s so.”

A thick lump blocked his voice, and he swallowed around it. “And I think I know why.”

Castiel frowned in confusion.

“I just want you to tell me the truth.”

“Always, Sam.”

This brought on a tiny snort of laughter, but no humor. “Always?” he doubted. But he let it go. Now was not the time. “I was there because Zachariah wanted to be able to get to me, wasn’t I?”

The frown deepened. “I don’t understand. You mean you think you were in Heaven so Zachariah could follow you there?”

“Yeah. It’s all I can figure. I get why Dean was there. But me…And it’s even worse than that now. I had a chance to seal the gates of Hell, Cas, and I failed. I might have redeemed myself, purified myself. Instead, I gave up. I let Dean talk me down. Of course he didn’t want me to die; I’m his brother. But if roles had been reversed, he never would have backed down. Never. He trusted me to get through this. Like the temptations of the Christ, right? I was supposed to push through, to see it all through, but I didn’t. I wasn’t strong enough. That was the real test, wasn’t it? Fear neither death nor pain…I was supposed to resist the temptation to let Dean save me. The real trial came at the end, and I failed it.”

Castiel lowered his eyes. “Maybe so. I don’t pretend to know what my Father was thinking when he created those trials, and I would not dare speculate. But you did the right thing, Sam.”

“For who?” he demanded. “What’s better because I failed? Back when we first met, Cas, I was drinking demon blood, to activate the evil inside me. I was Azazel’s first choice to carry Lucifer to victory. I could feel it, Cas. Michael was not going to win that fight. It would have been bloody and nasty, and horrible, and the world would have suffered and burned, but Michael would not have won in the end. Not without Dean. I nearly gave Lucifer all of Heaven and Earth. If I hadn’t detoxed in the pit, I might have been a psychopath when you brought me back without a soul to weigh me down! Have you ever considered that? What I would have done if I’d still been hooked on blood when I came back without a soul? Lucifer burned me up from the inside out, but what if he hadn’t? I’m not clean because I beat it. I’m clean because he burned up every bit of strength I had left. I don’t get points for coming back from the pit sober.”

His angel was shaking his head at him. “Sam, what brought this on? That was years ago!”

“It’s just…I’m not going to be there, am I? When Dean makes it to Heaven? When we’ve cured him of this mess and he gets straightened out, he’s still the Righteous Man, right? He’s still meant for Heaven, isn’t he?”

“I believe so.”

There was a suffocating sob in his throat. “And you’ll visit him there, right? Now that Heaven is open to you?”

“Yes, of course. I would like to visit Dean in his Heaven when his time here is finished.”

Sam’s lips were quaking, but he forced them to smile. “Good. Good, that’s good. I want you to. I want you to somehow make him not think about where I am. Can you do that? Just do something to make him assume I’m there somewhere? That I’m not…I know what I deserve, Cas. I just want Dean to be content without me.”

Castiel’s eyes widened. “You don’t think you deserve to be saved.”

“I know what I deserve, Cas,” he sobbed. “There’s no Heaven at the end of this. No peace when I’m done here. And that’s…that’s okay. That’s what I’ve always figured. I’ll be where I belong. But Dean…He shouldn’t have to spend eternity the way he’s spent the last thirty years, you know? Worried about me, thinking he’s responsible for me. Just let the man rest. Can you do that?”

Then Castiel’s hands were on either side of Sam’s face, and his forehead was touching Sam’s forehead. “No. Sam, no. Stop this. You can’t be blamed for the things you’ve done, and you won’t be punished for them either. You are a good man, Sam Winchester. One of the best.”

These words, heard in Castiel’s voice, but written in Bobby’s script, flared through his mind in blood red ink. “We both know that isn’t true, Cas,” he whispered. “Everything that’s happened to us, I’ve done it. It all leads back to me. Dean’s Mark. Kevin. God, Kevin. If I had finished the trials, everything else would never have happened. Gadreel would never have gotten to Kevin. Crowley would be human or locked away instead of partnering up with Dean because I was too stubborn to do it. If I’d been there for Kevin long before that, while you two were stuck in Purgatory-“

“Enough!” Castiel’s voice was firm, but his hands were still soft and warm. “Sam, you’ve seen souls. Pure souls, you’ve seen them with your own eyes.”

“Yes,” he choked.

“You know how beautiful they are.”

“The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Except perhaps a set of bright blue eyes that burned ice cold when a certain angel was watching over his charges.

Castiel nodded. “Then you’ll know what it means when I say that your soul is the most beautiful one I’ve ever seen. When Death pulled your soul from his bag, we were all so worried about what it would do to you that we didn’t have the chance to appreciate it as it deserved. But trust me, Sam, when I say that when I was human, at my darkest, lowest moments, I closed my eyes and remembered your soul and gained strength from it. Your courage and goodness gave me inspiration and determination. If I could, I would hold it up for all the world and every angel and demon and fanged thing that ever walked upon it to see. Angels would finally know what our Father meant when He commanded that we love you, and demons and monsters would quake in its light. Humans would see nothing but beauty and purity. Sam, you are courageous, and you are good, and I have thought countless times that if I could only know what Sam Winchester would do in any given situation, I would know what course was the right one. You are stubborn and you make mistakes, but you always see your way to what is right in the end.”

The tears would not stop flowing now, and he slumped into Castiel’s arms, shaking.

“Sam,” the angel said, quieter now, and while running his hand through the hunter’s hair, “even if I didn’t know you were bound for Heaven, I would not be worried. There is nothing, absolutely nothing, that would be able to keep me from you. You may go to Hell, and you may go to Purgatory, but know this. Neither can keep me out. You’re bound for Heaven, Sam, but if you needed me, I would destroy every realm, raze Hell by its own fire, and paint over Purgatory’s gray with black Leviathan blood. Never doubt that. Nothing will keep me from securing you in your Heaven with your brother. And nothing will keep me from joining you there. Because that is where you deserve to be. That is where you will find your rest when you are done. So cry no more, Sam.”

Sam held tight to his angel, and let himself sail on a sea of moving emotion, caressed and loved in a great blue ocean.


End file.
